for blue, blue skies
by alanabloom
Summary: In the aftermath of Hannibal's attack, arrest, and trial, Will moves to Florida to start over, but he can't let go of Alana. Lots of phone calls and longing and alcohol. Two shot.
1. there's distance and there's silence

_The lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean_  
_And the fire that was starting to spark_  
_I miss it all, from the love to the lightning_  
_And the lack of it snaps me in two_

He leaves on a Tuesday.

There's a U-Haul trailer attached to his car, since the backseat and passenger side are reserved for the dogs. He'd gone yesterday to the Bureau, his first time since everything - the attack and the arrest and the hospital and the trial - happened, to say goodbye to Beverly and Jack. He'd gone this morning, stupidly, to the animal shelter, and now he's sitting in his car outside her house, everything he owns in tow and a beagle puppy that doesn't belong to him perched on his lap, staring up at Will with baleful, expectant eyes.

He needs to get out of the car. Yet he can't make himself start this process...getting out of the car will only lead to the moment he has to say goodbye to her.

It's been two weeks since Will's seen Alana. Two weeks since he told her he is moving to Florida and she subsequently moved out of his house, returning to her own for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Even while he was recovering, she'd stayed at his place - it was closer to the hospital, and it made it easier to care for the dogs.

Will had tried so damn hard.

Tried to make the break up seem like a side effect of the move, nothing more. Tried to tell himself it was best for both of them, especially for her. Tried to forget the look on Alana's face when she realized what he meant when he blurted out I'm going.

The thing is that he loves her. More than he's loved anything, his whole life, and though he isn't sure exactly why, Will knows Alana loves him, too.

They had six weeks together. Six weeks of pure happiness, untainted, and it had all felt like it was a long time coming.

But then Will had finally found proof of who and what Hannibal Lecter was, and after that the world fell out from beneath them.

Will stares through his windshield at Alana's still, silent house and he skims through the past seven months since Hannibal's arrest.

The months in the hospital, Alana by his side, his only source of strength and his only target for frustration. The nightmares. His inability to sleep, to eat properly, to forget the feeling of holding his own insides in tact. Alana's guilt over being the one to bring Hannibal into Will's life, of being the inadvertent catalyst to everything he went through. Will's suspicions that she was staying out of guilt. Her stoic acceptance of all his harsh words, his uncalled for rudeness, his taciturn silence, as if she was somehow grateful for the punishment.

How fucked up he is, how broken. How all evidence of that only makes Alana feel worse, because she can't seem to shake the conviction that it's all her fault.

He remembers the day he found her crying in the laundry room, her back against the dryer that was rumbling but empty of clothes, turned on solely so he wouldn't hear her sobbing. Will had gathered Alana in his arms, trying to soothe her, but his relief at finally being able to be there for her had been short lived as he'd realized she was only crying for him.

These are the moments Will tries to remember, the ones that nearly allow him to believe they will be better apart.

And yet other memories keep nudging their way forward.

Her hand, small and warm and assuring, intertwined with his own the night he'd wanted to walk across the field and look back at his house. She hadn't even questioned the task, just asked if he wanted company and pulled herself gamely from bed at three in the morning when Will assured her he did.

Crawling across the mattress and burying his face in the back of her neck, waiting for her to wake up and realize he's had a nightmare. The feel of her arms around him, her fingers' soothing ministrations against his curls, the quiet whispers of her reminding him You're safe now, I'm right here, everything's okay...

Her eyes never leaving his during his testimony at the trial. The lawyer getting annoyed with him - you have to look at me, or the jury, not just stare off into space, it makes you seem crazy - and Will not caring, just keeping his gaze fixated on Alana, the only way he could get through it.

The moments during sex when she is the only thing he can see and feel and think about. The strangled sound of her voice saying his name like it's the only word she knows. Her lips against his skin, every inch of it, as though she doesn't even notice his scar. The certainty of her voice falling against his ear: you're beautiful. God I love you.

Will stares at the house. She is so close, and he isn't even gone yet, but already he misses Alana so much it hurts to breathe.

He'll never know how long he would have sat there, unmoving, in his car putting off the inevitable. As it is, he's going on twenty minutes when Alana appears on the porch, squinting at him in confusion, her arms wrapped around herself, protectively, as if she suspects he's only here to further twist the knife.

The mere sight of her nearly undoes his resolve, and for a moment Will desperately wants to forget the whole thing, to unload the U-Haul and settle in right here.

Alana looks sad and exhausted and she's wearing a T-shirt that used to belong to him. For a long moment they stare at each other through the windshield, her hovering at the edge of her porch and him behind the wheel of his idle car.

But then the puppy on his lap whines, and Will remembers what he's here to do. He gathers the beagle against his chest and gets out of the car, crossing her yard.

Alana makes no move to meet him halfway, and Will slows to an awkward stop at the bottom of the steps.

"Hi." His voice is rough, his throat already pulling tight.

"What are you doing here, Will?" There's no anger in her voice. She never gets mad at him, not anymore, not even when he told her he was leaving her behind. In a way, that's the worst part. There's something so resigned in Alana's demeanor, like she thinks she deserves this, that it was somehow inevitable.

"I...I wanted to get you something." Dumbly, he holds up the puppy. "I got him at the shelter."

Alana's already shaking her head, vehemently, surprised and almost panicked by the gift. "Will, I can't..."

"But you're so good with the dogs." He sounds over eager, desperately trying for some hint of happiness, for some evidence that she's alright. "And I didn't want...I don't know." Will flushes, stopping just short of saying he doesn't want to leave her alone.

Because of course Alana isn't alone. She's close to Beverly. And Jack - apparently the weeks Will spent in a coma had worked wonders on mending their fractured relationship. Her oldest brother lives close.

"You should take him." She isn't looking at either of them. "It'll be better."

"Alana, please." His voice is straining under the weight of his desperation, and after a moment of silence Will climbs the steps of her porch, holding out the animal until Alana has no choice to reach out and take him.

She scratches the puppy behind the ears, ducking her head to look at him, but not before Will sees the tears glittering on her eyelashes. "Thanks," she whispers eventually, so soft he can't be sure of the tone.

They stand there for longer than necessary, Alana gently petting her new dog, Will watching silently. Finally, she turns around and heads back toward the half open door, and for a second Will's lungs shrink in panic, but Alana only deposits the puppy inside before turning back around to face Will.

She doesn't say anything, just waits for him to reveal why he's still standing there. With great, pained effort, Will slides his eyes to meet hers. The tears she's fighting make her eyes look overly bright and saturated. They make Will think of blue glass.

When he lets the silence hover for too long, Alana's shoulders sag, and she gives him a pleading, desperate look. "Will." Her voice is quiet. Begging. Like she wants him to just go, to put them both out of their misery and rip off the band aid.

"Please don't hate me," he blurts out in the high, quivering tone of a desperate little boy. "Alana, please."

Her face falls open, and in two seconds Alana's stepping into his arms, whispering assurances against his neck, telling him of course she doesn't hate him, that she never could. As tightly as Will clings to her, one would think he's only leaving Alana by extreme outside force.

They stay like that for a long time. There are tears on his face, and Will can hear the soft, stuttered breaths that mean she's crying, too. Then they both start talking at once, their words tripping over each other, overlapping and blurring together, an endless loop of apologies and unwanted forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"No, you don't, you didn't do anything wrong."

"I did - "

"No, never."

"I love you - "

"I love you."

"- so much -"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm sorry."

Alana's the one to pull away, when she's crying too hard to talk anymore, her forearm pressed against her lips. The sight rips him to shreds, and Will's a breath away from taking it all back, the break up and the move and all the rest of it, when she lowers her arm, presses her lips together, and chokes out, "Let me know when you make it there safe."

He doesn't even have time to agree before Alana's lips are on his, the kiss soft and fast and achingly final.

Alana pulls away in a rush and immediately turns her back on him, like she can't handle looking at Will for another second.

So that is the end, with a click of her door and a muffled sob, followed by barking, from the other side of it.

~(W*A)~

_Hey, it's me...don't worry, no cell phone use while driving. I'm pulled over at a rest stop so the dogs can run around for a minute. Somewhere in North Carolina, I think. Five hours in the car is a lot for them. And for me. All I've done is think about you, and how I think I did this wrong. This morning it was just...it was so hard. And I think it was so hard that I didn't even manage to say what I really wanted to which is that...this isn't about anything you did or didn't do, Alana. You know how I feel about you blaming yourself. I don't blame you. That's not what this is. You aren't what I want to get away from. It's just...I had to get away from everything else. Start over, you know? I'm no good to you like this. You know I'm not. I'm not making you happy like this. And more than anything I just want you to be happy. You deserve it. And you have to stop thinking otherwise._

_I, uh. I guess that's it. I should get back on the road. Call me back, if you want. Or I'll just call you when I make it to Florida, like you asked._

_Bye, Alana. Bye._

~(W*A)~

When she manages to stop crying, Alana names the puppy Jude and passes several hours on the floor of her living room, playing a limited game of fetch using an improvised ball made of rolled socks, and works through a six pack of beer.

Beverly calls around noon, but Alana doesn't answer because she's pretty she'd sound drunk. Bev thinks she drinks too much, these days, even though Alana's explained that sometimes it's the only way she can get to sleep.

That shouldn't be any more difficult now. After all, it's not as though she can't sleep without Will beside her. Over the past few months, she'd often wake up in the middle of night to find the spot beside her empty. Will would be aimlessly wandering the house, or sometimes just sitting in a chair across the bedroom, staring blankly out the window, lost to some deep, dark place that Alana could never reach.

But goddamn had she tried.

~(W*A)~

_Hey, me, again. I know it's late, but I told you I'd call. I'm at the house. It's nice. Right on the beach. Looks more like a cabin in the woods than a beach house, though, which I sort of like. The owner says there's potential to buy at the end of the rental period, but, ah. I don't know. It's quiet here. I'm standing on the back deck, looking at the ocean, and I should probably be more tired than I am, after all that driving. Worried I won't be able to sleep._

_I don't know why I'm telling you all that. I want to keep talking to you, I think. Sorry. Call me tomorrow? I want to hear how the new dog's working out. I hope you aren't mad about that._

_Goodnight, Alana. _

~(W*A)~

It turns out that being falsely imprisoned - even when a serial killer very carefully set you up to make that happen - comes with a nice don't sue us settlement. His retirement package from the FBI was also more generous than usual.

All of which means there's no immediate pressure for Will to find work.

So he fishes. He works on his lures. He goes for walks on the beach with the dogs.

And he misses her, all the time.

The solitude - the loneliness - is hardly unfamiliar to Will, but it's like falling back in time, to the years before he met Alana. It all just serves as a reminder of how much Alana changed his life - though not in the way she thinks.

So Will wakes up every morning wishing she's there, and he has to remind himself that, together, there's no way either of them could get past what happened.

Alana will never be able to forgive herself for being the one to recommend Hannibal as his therapist, for setting all this in motion, if Will is right in front of her, broken and hurting, a constant reminder of the consequences of her mistake.

And he will never be able to put his trauma behind him if Alana always has that look in her eyes, a seemingly permanent expression of anguished self loathing that won't go away no matter how many times Will assured her she isn't to blame.

They stopped working, and he hadn't been able to see a way through it. All Will did was hurt her, and Alana took it and never fought back because she wanted the punishment.

But they loved - love - each other, fiercely and desperately, and Will fervently believes that if it wasn't for Hannibal Lecter, he and Alana would have just..stayed happy.

Some days, Will thinks that's the thing he hates Hannibal for the most.

~(W*A)~

_Hello?_

_Alana! Hi. _

_Hey, Will._

_I didn't know if you'd answer._

_I know. I'm sorry I haven't called you back, I just...needed a few days._

_No, it's okay. I know._

_ ... _

_Where are you right now?_

_Um, I'm at home. _

_I mean specifically. _

_Oh. The porch. _

_Hold on. _

_..._

_..._

_What are you doing_

_I went outside. I'm on my deck now._

_So you're looking at the ocean?_

_Yeah. _

_I can kind of hear the waves._

_What are you doing?_

_Just sitting here with Jude. _

_Oh. Um. Right. Who's - _

_The dog, Will. _

_Oh! Jude. I like that. How is he? _

_He's good. We've bonded. But don't tell Winston. _

_Oh, right, he'd be jealous. I think he misses you. _

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Alana? _

_Yeah?_

_Did you get my voicemails? From last week?_

_I did. _

_Okay. Good. I was just making sure._

_... _

_... _

_So you're doing okay? _

_I think so, yeah. _

_Better? _

_I...don't know. It's all still new. And...I miss you a lot. _

_..._

_Alana? _

_Yeah, Will, I miss you, too. I should go, okay? I'm kinda tired._

_Yeah. Yeah, okay. Me, too, actually._

_You're sleeping okay?_

_Sometimes._

_..._

_..._

_Bye, Will._

_Bye, Alana. Goodnight._

~(W*A)~

Back when Will was in the hospital, Alana had taken a semester off from Georgetown, dropped lectures at the FBI Academy, and stopped consulting on FBI cases.

She never went back to the latter.

Her class load is light for the summer, and with Will gone, Alana finds herself with much more free time than is good for her right now.

Filling the hours becomes important. Anything to avoid the silence and the thinking that comes along with it.

She takes up jogging. She logs an absurd amount of hours in the university library, starting a dozen different research papers with an almost manic focus before she loses the thread and starts over. She starts an ill advised project of repainting rooms in her house.

Then, after an offhanded comment from Jack, Alana offers to go with Bella Crawford to her latest Hail Mary round of chemotherapy when Jack's work schedule makes it impossible for him to take her.

Bella likes Alana because she doesn't discourage or wince at pessimism or gallows humor. Once, when Bella laments dryly that she's trying to avoid novels because she doesn't want to leave anything unfinished, Alana just nods as though that's perfectly reasonable, and shows up the next treatment day armed with anthologies of short stories, Flannery O'Connor and Raymond Carver and Joyce Carol Oates and Toni Morrison. Sometimes Jack comes home to find Bella asleep in their bedroom and Alana cooking or cleaning, and no amount of you don't have to do that makes an impact.

Sometimes, when Alana feels like she's losing it, she thinks about Bella and Jack and remind herself that she has no right to complain or hurt or feel sorry for herself. Not when they have it so much worse...and it's not even their fault.

~(W*A)~

_Hello?_

_Hi._

_Hey, Will. How are you?_

_Not so bad. You?_

_I'm fine._

_..._

_..._

_I just wanted to check in._

_Yeah, I...I'm glad you did. How are things down there?_

_Oh. You know. Hot. Humid._

_Are you meeting people?_

_There are a few guys who fish on the same pier as I do. We exchange small talk. Compare catches._

_That's good._

_Yeah. Also commissioned a few motors to fix, so. I'm keeping busy._

_That's really good, Will._

_What about you?_

_Nothing new, really. Just class._

_The Academy?_

_Sometimes. Not as much._

_How is it?_

_It's. People are still talking. The trainees ask questions. I don't really hang around much after class anymore, but. It'll die down._

_Yeah._

_How is it there?_

_Someone mentioned him once. The trial. But no one's recognized my name yet...don't think the people here are the type to follow it too closely._

_Good. I'm glad._

_..._

_Well, it was good to talk to you._

_Yeah, you, too. Do you have to go?_

_Yeah. Sorry. I'm taking Bella to chemo._

_Oh, right. How's she doing?_

_Okay. Not great._

_Right._

_..._

_Well. Bye. Talk later?_

_Sure. Bye, Will. Bye._

~(W*A)~

Will stops sleeping.

He overloads on coffee, surviving on fitful bursts of power naps throughout the day. The nightmares have gotten bad again, especially since he's waking up alone, and Will wonders how the hell he could have forgotten this crucial fact: that Alana had been the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing him whole. She was the single beam of light he could see above the surface, the edge for his finger to tentatively hook onto to keep from plummeting from the edge.

Now there's nothing but her voice on the phone, and Will only lets himself call her a tiny fraction of the times he needs to.

Most nights he walks, sometimes finding himself miles down the beach with no real memory of getting there, a strange version of highway hypnosis. A few times he walks to a small, dingy bar in town and goes home with some blue eyed brunette after drinking enough that maybe he can pretend it's her. That never works, but he fucks them anyway, keeping his shirt on so they don't comment on his scar.

~(W*A)~

_I forgot to tell you, Bev said to tell you hi._

_Tell her hey from me, too. How is she?_

_She's good._

_You hang out a lot?_

_Sort of. We meet for lunch a few times a week._

_That's good._

_Jack's trying to talk her into convincing me to come back. Work cases again, I mean._

_That's because Jack knows __he__ can't talk you into anything._

_True._

_Are you...thinking about it?_

_No. I'm done with that._

_Alana..._

_Everyone knows I was mentored by a serial killer, Will. I knew him for years, and I didn't suspect anything until he..._

_..._

_I just shouldn't be profiling._

_Alana._

_Forget it, let's not talk about that, okay? What did you do today?_

_Oh, uh. Not much. Took a walk with a few of the dogs. Finished a lure. Quiet day._

_Right. And you're okay?_

_Yeah._

_..._

_You know you don't have to worry about me anymore._

_I guess I'll have to work on that._

_..._

_..._

_So tell me about Jude._

_Oh, he's sweet. He's got some separation anxiety issues._

_Oh, yeah?_

_Yeah, I can hear him whining behind the door every morning when I leave. And he follows me around the house. Which I kind of don't mind._

_Kiley does that._

_Oh, yeah, he's a little like Kiley._

_Did I tell you Bear's afraid of the ocean?_

_No, you didn't. How does that work?_

~(W*A)~

It's always with her.

The sorrow a leaden weight in her bones, the guilt and self-loathing twined with her veins, the loss of him sewn into her skin.

Some days Alana can't see past it; the distractions stop working and it makes her feel crazy. She's sure everyone can see it, can see how aggressively not okay she is: Jack and Bella and Beverly and her students and anyone else she comes into contact with.

Those are the days that turn into nights where she drinks herself sick, searching for some form of physical pain, something beyond the intangible fucking mess of her brain and her heart.

She hates being drunk and she hates herself for doing it, but it's easier than everything else she's hating herself for.

~(W*A)~

_Will._

_Uh, yeah. Hey._

_Will._

_Alana? You okay?_

_I am all good._

_You sound weird._

_I may be a little bit drunk._

_Oh. Are you out somewhere? I can call back._

_No, no, stay on. I'm not anywhere. I mean, I'm at home._

_..._

_..._

_Are you okay?_

_I just told you I'm good._

_..._

_Are __you__ okay?_

_Yeah, I am._

_Would you tell me if you weren't?_

_Of course._

_Mmmm. I don't know if you would. Sometimes you don't._

_Well. You know why, though._

_Why?_

_..._

_Because I know it's my fault?_

_Because you __think__ it is._

_You're not even here anymore, Will. And you still can't say it._

_Because that's not what I think. You know it's not._

_..._

_I'm not the one who has to forgive you, Alana._

_But you're the one who left._

_Not because of you._

_You didn't..._

_..._

_..._

_What?_

_You didn't ask me to come with you._

_..._

_..._

_You didn't ask me to stay._

_Oh, fuck that, Will. Fuck everything about that._

_I'm sorry._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_I miss you all the time. If that helps, I...I lied before. I'm not okay. Not without you._

_..._

_..._

_Goddamn it._

_Maybe I made a mistake._

_Don't._

_I mean it._

_You can't say stuff like that._

_Maybe you could come here._

_What?_

_You know, come visit. For a weekend or something. I want to see you._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Alana?_

_A weekend._

_I just mean -_

_I'm gonna hang up now, Will._

_Wait. Why?_

_Um. Because in a second I'm going to be crying. And it's bad enough I called you drunk. Drunk crying we don't need._

_You, uh. You didn't call me. I called you._

_Right._

_You never call me._

_Of course I don't. Those are the rules, Will. You left. You ended it. So you call._

_..._

_..._

_Alana?_

_..._

_Alana? Shit._

~(W*A)~

Will curses and hangs up the phone.

He needs to get to her. To walk to his car and drive to Alana's house and see her. The strength of the need scares him, and for the first time the reality of the actual physical distance sinks in. And it's terrifying.

He screws his eyes shut. There's a pressure building in his chest, clawing toward his throat, begging to be screamed.

He calls her back, but she doesn't answer. He hadn't expected her to. So Will leaves the phone on the couch and leaves the house through his back door.

The thin sliver of moon casts a glinting sheen on the surface of the water, and Will moves to the edge of the shoreline, where the water hits, letting the low tide ebb icy cold water over his feet. He starts walking down the beach, his house on his right, the ocean on his left, his strides misleading in their purposefulness. He just wants to be moving, wants to be going somewhere even if it isn't where he needs to be.

It happens again, that thing where he disconnects and loses sense of how long and how far he's been walking.

He hasn't been sleeping enough lately, and it's the exhaustion that ultimately makes him stop. Will sits down hard on the wet sand. There's no one else around, and the few houses he can see, dotting the edge of the shore, are dark. He doesn't know what time it is, or how far he's gotten.

Will lies back, flat at the edge of the water. A shallow wave comes, making it halfway up his legs before retreating. Somehow he falls asleep without meaning to, for God knows how long, and when Will wakes up he's soaked and shivering. A wave rushes past, getting as far as his elbows now.

He turns his gaze upward, looking for stars against the inky blackness and finding none, suddenly feeling very small and very, very far away from home. From her.

Will thinks of Alana in her empty house and him alone on the beach, her drowning in vodka and him drowning in saltwater, and he wonders how this could possibly be better.

Eventually Will pulls himself to his feet. His clothes are soaked, and wet sand clings to his skin and the fabric. He feels impossibly heavy.

The sun's starting to rise by the time he makes it back to the rental house.

~(W*A)~

_Hey, it's me. I'm sorry about last night. I think I handled that...badly. Just. Give me a call tonight? Bye, Alana._

~(W*A)~

Alana's sitting in the wooden chair beside Bella's chemo station when she glances up from the book she's trying - and failing - to read to see Jack walking toward them.

Bella's asleep at the moment, two hours into treatment, with a blanket draped over her. Alana stands, moving to meet Jack halfway between the lobby door and the chairs.

"Thanks again," he says by way of greeting. "I got it from here."

Alana nods. "How's the case?"

"Pursuing a promising lead. But we're waiting on lab results, won't know anything until tomorrow." Jack frowns a little, squinting. "You alright?"

Alana is hungover and embarrassed and miserable, but the shame of being asked that question in the middle of a cancer ward turns her stomach. "You shouldn't be asking me that."

"What, because my wife is sick I give up all concern for other human beings?"

"That's your prerogative, yeah." Alana tries to smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jack."

~(W*A)~

_It's, uh. It's me again. I thought I should give it a few days. You said that thing about...you never being the one to call me, so I thought maybe that's why I didn't hear back from you. But. I guess not. I miss talking to you. I...I just miss you, really. Can't believe it's been almost two months. Feels like longer. Well. It does and it doesn't. Please call me._

~(W*A)~

Will's walking down the beach in the late afternoon. Winston and Bear and Roxie are along for the walk, running ahead of him, chasing each other into the edge of the surf.

He stops for a moment, letting them play and wiping the sweat off his brow. His phone's in his pocket, and he's trying to decide whether he should try Alana again - it's been more than a week since the disastrous phone call and her avoidance is starting to make him vaguely panicky.

When he glances over at the dogs, a young boy's joined them. Will hadn't spotted him before; he must've spaced out longer than he'd realized. He moves closer, wary; Winston and Bear are friendly, but Roxie isn't great with strangers.

The boy looks up as Will approaches. He's probably eight or nine. "Are they yours?"

"Yeah."

The kid reaches out and rubs Winston behind the ears, grinning with delight. "What're their names?"

"That guy's Winston. Over there's Bear, and Roxie," Will tells him, pointing accordingly.

As the boy continues to pet Winston, Will scans the beach. There's no one else in sight. "Are you lost?"

"No, I just live right there." The kid points to the closest house, set just off beach like Will's. "It's okay if I'm out here as long as Mom can see me from the window." The kid pauses, then looks at Will with interest. "Are you on vacation or do you live here?"

"I live here. Well. For now."

"Which house?"

"About a mile that way."

"Cool. Do you bring your dogs out a lot?"

Will smiles slightly. He's always liked talking to kids; their straightforwardness is refreshing. "We go on walks, most days. These guys, and the five others back at the house."

The boy's eyes go wide. "So, wait...you have eight dogs?"

"That's right."

"Awesome. I don't even get one." He looks down at Winston, eyes shining with envy. "You should bring them all down here sometime. I'd play with 'em, or take 'em on walks or whatever else, if you wanted."

"We could probably do that. What's your name?"

"Willy."

Surprised, Will laughs a little.

The boy's brow furrows. "What?"

"Nothing, just...I'm Will."

"For real?"

"For real."

"Cool."

The next day he brings a different combination of dogs with him on his walk. He spots Willy running down from his house when he's still a good way back, as if the kid had been waiting.

He sees him a few more times for the rest of the week, and always stops for thirty minutes or so to let the kid play with the dogs.

One day Willy, Winston, and Kiley are running around a cluster of tidepools, Will sitting on his own about a hundred feet back, half watching, when Willy calls out excitedly, "Hey, Will, come look!"

He dutifully gets to his feet and approaches the tidepool. The boy's crouched down, pointing at a starfish. "Look, it's moving!"

"Wow," Will says dimly, a dull pang of longing hitting him somewhere in the chest.

"I didn't even know it was a real fish. Like, a live one I mean."

Will wraps up the dogs' playdate quickly after that, and after he tells Willy goodbye, he pulls out of his phone and calls Alana.

~(W*A)~

_Hello?_

_..._

_Will?_

_Sorry, I...you answered._

_Yeah. I...I'm sorry about before. Can we just forget it?_

_If you want to._

_I really do._

_Okay._

_..._

_..._

_So. What are you doing?_

_Walking on the beach. Winston and Kiley are with me._

_You guys heading anywhere in particular?_

_Back to the house now. Actually, I called because...this is stupid._

_What?_

_There was a starfish. In a tide pool. And I just...I thought about you, and that necklace you wear, and I just...I wanted to trying calling again._

_..._

_..._

_I'm glad you did. I was...hoping you would._

_You can call me, you know._

_I...yeah, I know._

_..._

_Will, last week, on the phone..._

_So...you do want to talk about it?_

_Just one part. You said that you'd lied, and that you weren't okay._

_I just...I just meant that I miss you. Even more than I thought I would._

_..._

_..._

_And everything else? Please don't lie._

_I'm still not sleeping well. Or often._

_Nightmares?_

_Yeah._

_..._

_Fuck. This was supposed fix things._

_It doesn't work like that. It won't all go away at once, Will. You know that._

_Yeah._

_I know you don't want to see someone, Will, and I get that, but...you know the signs of PTSD. If things get bad, you have to tell me._

_I will._

_Promise me._

_I promise._

_..._

_..._

_Tell me something._

_What?_

_Anything. We haven't talked in almost two weeks._

_Okay. Um. You know the regular semester started. So I've got a heavier class load again, which is a relief, honestly._

_Still not working cases?_

_No. I was at the Academy the other day. Oh, get this, I ran into DePaulo..._

_Oh, God._

_Still an asshole._

_Of course he is._

_He was prying about your 'recovery'. He actually suggested he and I cowrite something about it._

_What?!_

_I know._

_Doesn't he know that we're -_

_..._

_That, um. We were..._

_Probably. I, um, think he just thought that was a sneaky way to ask._

_Right._

_..._

_..._

_I better go. Gotta take Jude out before I meet Beverly and the guys for dinner._

_The guys?_

_Jimmy and Z. Zeller._

_Oh. Didn't know you were all friends._

_Bev's trying to make it happen. Thinks I'm antisocial._

_Ha._

_Talk soon?_

_Yeah. Hey, Alana. Do me a favor?_

_Yeah?_

_You call me next time?_

_..._

_It's just...sometimes I worry I'm annoying you._

_You're never annoying me._

_If I called you every time I wanted to, I would be._

_..._

_..._

_I'll call. Soon, okay?_

_Okay._

_Bye, Will._

_Bye, Alana. _

~(W*A)~

She drives to his old house sometimes, late at night.

It's not exactly a healthy habit, but it's a fair trade for her more destructive vices. Some nights she forgoes drinking just so she can make the drive. There's a For Sale sign in the yard, and sometimes when it's two in the morning and she isn't thinking straight Alana toys with the idea of buying it. In case he comes back.

It's getting cooler now, so she brings along a coat for the nights she gets out and walks across the field, Jude trotting along at her heels. She remembers the time Will woke her up in the middle of the night to make this walk, the way he'd held her hand and looked back at the lights of his house and explained why it calmed him.

But the house is dark now, less of a boat than an empty, desolate island.

Still, it is an odd sort of coping mechanism, in a time when Alana needs them. She can almost spin the house's eerie stillness into something positive: it's waiting for him. He is coming back.

Those are the only moments when she lets herself remember the six weeks they were together in the Before. When Will was out of jail and she was still unaware of the truth about what landed him there. She feels so detached from those memories, like they're some sepia toned montage, too happy to have ever been her life.

Of course, those days weren't perfect. She had already fucked up, had already made the fatal mistake that set everything in motion. Will had already suffered unspeakably for it.

Alana just hadn't known yet. Her ignorance had been her bliss, and for six weeks being in love with Will didn't hurt. She'd loved him for a long time before, and hasn't stopped loving him since, but that finite period was the only time it wasn't a heavy, bruising ache, deep in her chest.

~(W*A)~

_I swear, it had to be seven feet. At least._

_I know, Will. I saw the photo. My phone went off in the middle of a lecture and suddenly I was looking at a dead shark._

_Your phone shouldn't be on during class. That's your mistake._

_I didn't even know you knew how to text._

_I just choose my moments. Carefully._

_And dead shark, that felt like a worthy moment?_

_I guarantee that's the best picture on your phone._

_I don't know. My phone has maybe fifty photos of Jude, and one photo of a dead shark._

_So at least it adds variety._

_True. Thanks for that._

_You're welcome. _

~(W*A)~

"Excuse me...are you Will?"

He pulls up short and turns around, startled. He'd just passed the woman without a second glance, but now she's stopped her jog and is staring at him with interest.

"Um..."

"I'm Molly Foster. Willy's mom. Sorry, I just saw the dogs and assumed."

"Oh, right. Yes. That's me." He scans the area, as though expecting for the kid to appear, even though they're aren't actually close to his house. "Where is Willy?"

Molly quirks her lips slightly, amused. "It's nine a.m. He's in school." She steps forward, offering her hand. "It's good to finally meet you. I hope he hasn't been bothering you, he's just a little obsessed with dogs at the moment."

"Oh, no. They enjoy it," Will replies, his eyes flicking away. Molly is tall and tan and blonde and her eyes are green. Nothing like Alana. He knows it's a little ridiculous that he catalogues women in terms of similarities and differences, like it's a compare and contrast.

Molly waits a beat, then gives him the polite smile Will's used to, the one that says alright, I get it, you're not great company. "Well, nice to meet you, Will. Thanks for indulging him."

"Nice to meet you, too." Will gives a small nod before turning and continuing on his walk.

He doesn't give the encounter anymore thought, until three days later when he ends up near Willy's house for the usual, late afternoon playdate. After about fifteen minutes, Molly appears from the house and invites him inside for a drink.

"Will Graham...why does that sound familiar?"

When he reluctantly tells her, she remembers his role in Hannibal's nationally publicized trial. It makes Will feel like a character in a movie, introduced with a ready made backstory. It makes him more interesting to Molly, but the reality doesn't mean much to her. It's a story in a magazine, a summary narrative that doesn't begin to explain the instability, the anger, the trauma.

But he supposes it's the same with her, when she tells him about her husband who died a few years ago from cancer. Molly makes it sound quick and painless, but of course the difference is it's her telling her own story, not magazines or Inside Edition or Freddie Lounds.

The truth is, though, that Will sort of likes that she doesn't grasp it. It feels like the embodiment of what Florida was supposed to be: putting distance between himself and what happened. Turning it into a stage of his life that's no longer relevant.

He doesn't feel that way. But Molly acting like it is makes it easier for Will to pretend.

When Willy comes inside for a snack, Will goes outside to collect his dogs and leave, but not before Molly asks him to dinner that weekend. He accepts.

~(W*A)~

_Tell me what you see._

_Is that a trick question?_

_No, describe it. I've never seen your house, I want to be able to picture you._

_I'm not in the house. I'm on the back deck. But okay, I'm sitting in one of the rocking chairs. There are two. Stripped wood, kind of splintery. Fitz is asleep in the other one, Winston's lying on the stairs._

_Okay. Good. What else?_

_I don't know. The ocean._

_You can do better than that, Will, you have a metaphor for everything._

_Okay, okay. It's dark. The water looks black from here, and you can't quite see the point where water becomes sky. There's barely any moon. The air's got that heavy, salty smell._

_Not a metaphor. But a little better._

_Now you go._

_You know what my house looks like._

_No, but where are you in it?_

_Back porch._

_You're outside? Isn't it freezing there?_

_A little. I just walked out. Wanted to see if you were right about the moon._

~(W*A)~

"You know I'm not part of this. I'm Switzerland."

Alana gives Beverly a look. "Yeah, about that. Shouldn't you be slightly less neutral?"

"Meaning I should be on your side?"

"Honestly, yes."

Beverly shrugs, unbothered. "I told Jack I wasn't going to try to talk you into anything. But in my completely unbiased opinion...it might be good for you."

Alana's eyes harden instantly. "Why would it?"

"Because you're fucking good at it, moron," Beverly tells her with a sigh, and an eyeroll for good measure. "Why do you think Jack wants you back so badly? You've got this idiotic idea that you somehow should have known about Hannibal, and the fact that you didn't means you're incompetent. The longer we let you operate under that assumption, the more ingrained it becomes. And that's unacceptable."

Alana blinks at her, surprised at Beverly's sternness after months of not bringing it up. For a long moment, she's quiet, then starts haltingly, "I'd almost..."

"What?"

"I'd almost be okay if...if it wasn't for Will." She pursed her lips and shakes her head, annoyed with herself. "If Hannibal was just killing people I didn't know, and I had missed it...I think I could forgive that. But what he did to Will...right in front of me. What he put Will through. What I gave him the chance to do. That's what I can't forgive myself for."

Beverly's face softens, but she doesn't say anything more on the subject. She's learned not to argue. "You still talking a lot?"

"Yeah. Once or twice a week."

"How's he seem?"

"It's hard to tell. Better, I think. But sometimes his voice gets this...panicked quality when we're about to hang up. He may just be faking his way through it. I can't always tell over the phone."

Beverly nods, expressionless.

After a beat, Alana sighs. "What?"

"I said nothing."

"What?"

"It's weird, Alana. You know I think it's weird."

"Yeah, it probably is."

"You don't care, though."

"Right," Alana confirms, taking a sip of her coffee. She doesn't tell Beverly that sometimes the sound of his voice cuts her to the quick. Or that the phone calls are like scratching poison ivy, so, so needed, and temporarily soothing, but ultimately just worsens the scar.

~(W*A)~

_Turn on AMC._

_What channel's that?_

_We don't have the same channel numbers, remember?_

_..._

_Look at your guide._

_Found it, I think._

_..._

_Oh, hey. We saw this._

_You hated it._

_I told you, I'm just not much for movies._

_Which is fundamentally weird, Will. But this one seemed to be particularly offensive._

_It just doesn't make sense._

_Oh, believe me. I remember your thoughts on the matter._

_That was almost a fight._

_But not really._

_No, not really._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Anyway, how's -_

_Ssssh. I'm trying to watch._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_~(W*A)~_

He sleeps with Molly the third time he meets her, after they get back from dinner and relieve Willy's babysitter.

It's good while it's happening; it takes Will out of himself, clearing his head of anything but basic, physical sensation.

But sex is a band aid over a bullet wound, and the adhesive is already peeling in the seconds after it's over. Almost immediately, he thinks of Alana, and he lays beside Molly in bed feeling guilty and incomplete. It was the same story with the women he went home with from the bar, except now Will can't make a hasty exit.

Molly studies him with an almost sympathetic look.

"So it's true. The woman at the trial, the one who testified for you the first time around. The psychiatrist? You...were together?"

His chest constricts and his mouth goes dry. "It wasn't all true. She...she was never with him." Will swallows hard. "But yeah. We were."

"And where is she?"

"Home." He frowns, quickly amending, "Virginia, I mean."

"You still love her?"

It's framed like a question, but Molly seems to know the answer. Will looks at the ceiling, not her, when he answers, "Yes." Silence wedges between them for awhile, then, "Sorry."

"Don't be," and she sounds like she means it. "I still love Daniel." Her late husband. "I don't think that will ever go away. He was the love of my life."

And that, it turns out, is what does it.

He and Molly fall together out of loneliness and understanding and a sort of simple, surface compatibility. But what holds them together is that it's clear from the beginning what they are and what they aren't for each other.

Will is not the love of Molly's life, and she isn't the love of his. Those positions have already been filled. They know not to try to fill the gaping holes someone else left behind, so they fit each other into the spaces between gaps.

They talk a lot about their respective losses, about Alana and Daniel. They refer to them only in pronouns, as though it's perfectly fine for other people to dominate their conversations as long as they don't say the names.

Strangely, this establishes a strange sort of intimacy. To know how much he loves Alana, how much he misses her...it's not an insignificant part of knowing Will.

~(W*A)~

_Ah...Alana?_

_Will? What's...is everything okay?_

_I'm sorry. S-sorry, I know it's late, I know..._

_It's okay, don't be sorry. Tell me what's wrong._

_I can't...I just had t-to call..._

_You have a nightmare?_

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._

_Sssshhhh, it's okay. Everything's okay. I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?_

_Alana, he...it was you, he had you..._

_It's just a dream. Everything's okay, babe, I'm right here._

_..._

_I'm going to count to ten okay. In and out, every number, remember?_

_Mmm._

_Easy...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10._

_..._

_Will?_

_I'm okay. I'm...I'm sorry, 's stupid._

_It's not stupid. You feel better?_

_Yeah._

_I need you to talk to me, okay? Tell me something._

_I don't know what to..._

_Give me the dogs names. In order that you found them._

_Bear, Kiley -_

_Slower._

_Bear. Kiley. Fitz. Bailey. Zoey. Huck. Roxie. Winston._

_Okay, good._

_And Jude._

_He doesn't count._

_Honorary._

_..._

_..._

_You okay?_

_Yes. I'm sorry for waking you._

_Stop. No more apologizing. It's okay. I want you to call me._

_..._

_Want to talk about it?_

_No._

_Want me to stay on the phone?_

_Yes. Please._

_Okay. I'm not going anywhere until you say so, okay? I'm right here?_

_Thanks._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._


	2. to stand were I stood

_'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you_  
_All I know is that I should_  
_And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you_  
_All I know is that I should_  
_'Cos she will love you more than I could_  
_She who dares to stand where I stood_

"Why aren't you with her?"

This is how it happens. Molly brings up Alana, seemingly apropos of nothing, but really it's because Will had gone quiet for too long, his mind drifting somewhere else. To _someone_ else.

He gives her a slightly startled look, surprised by the question. "I told you..."

"I know what you told me," Molly replies gently. "About why you left, what it was like after you got out of the hospital. But...what's stopping you from being with her now? Or in, I don't know, six months?"

Will's quiet for a moment; he understands why she'd ask the question. Her husband is dead; there's no going back for Molly, no matter how much she'd like to. Alana, though. She's still out there. Hell, she's on the other end of Will's phone once or twice a week, something he has yet to mention even though he and Molly have been dating for over three months now.

Molly's eyes soften, and she assures him, "Will, I like you. I could even love you, someday." He stomach lurches a little at the word, and as always he immediately makes the comparison: the first time Alana told him she loved him, it almost felt like mere formality, verbalizing something they'd both known and felt for so long. And here's Molly, using the word before she feels it. Alana's opposite, yet again. "But I don't want to go there if you're just...waiting for her to show up."

And damn if he doesn't picture it. Coming back from a walk, the dogs with him. Noticing a figure, waiting on his deck. Alana. Running across the sand, meeting her halfway, her in his arms...

He closes his eyes and banishes the image, fumbling for words. "It was all...too much." He almost slips up, says Alana's name, before catching himself. That isn't how this works. "She...couldn't forgive herself. _Couldn't_. And I was...I was in a bad place. After the hospital, and the trial." This is safe. This is how he talks about it to Molly: vague and firmly past tense. "She was there for me. Always. But I was...a constant reminder of what she thought was her fault. And her guilt, how much it ate at her...it was a constant reminder of what happened to me. We...we can't forget, when we're together. We were both too...tangled in it." His throat narrows, and Will drops his eyes to the woodwork of Molly's kitchen table.

Molly watches him, quiet and thoughtful. Molly, who has never seen him at his worst, or anywhere close. Who has nothing to do with Hannibal Lecter or prison or hospitals. He never wakes up from nightmares with the desire, the pulsing need to reach for her. But she doesn't show up in his nightmares, either.

~(W*A)~

_Hey, it's me. Just checking in. Wanted to see how Winston did at the vet. And just say hey, of course. Give me a call back whenever you have time. Bye, Will._

~(W*A)~

He's in Molly's kitchen, cleaning dishes while Willy dries, Molly behind them packing up leftovers, when Will's phone rings.

His chest swells in relief, a reflexive response to Alana's calls, but in the next second he realizes he shouldn't answer. Will dives his soaking wet hand into his pocket to silence the phone, feeling a knot of guilt for doing so forming in his gut.

Molly's looking at him curiously; she's obviously picked up on the fact that he has few acquaintances he keeps in touch with. He talks of no friends or family, and he doesn't even have current work colleagues. He gives her a benign smile. "I'll call them back," and Molly doesn't ask more questions; they aren't at the stage for prying yet.

A moment later there's a beep to indicate a voicemail, and Will hates how badly he wants to hear it. Ten seconds ago, he felt perfectly content, his brain amazingly calm and clear, and now all he wants is to step out of this kitchen, out of the house, and call Alana back.

The after dinner chores, done, Will dutifully follows Molly and Willy into the living room to watch a movie. His phone feels impossibly heavy in his pocket, and not for the first time, it feels like there's a sharp slab of guilt digging into his ribcage.

He is building something here, a relationship with a woman who knows so little of his darkness it makes it easier for Will to forget about it himself. And yet he is clinging onto Alana for dear life, unwilling and unable to let her go completely.

Neither of them have any idea, and the dishonesty is eating away at him.

But he never tells Molly about the phone calls; against all logic, it doesn't feel like she's the one he's betraying.

~(W*A)~

_Hello?_

_Hey. Sorry I missed your call._

_No problem. How are you?_

_Not bad. You?_

_I'm good. And Winston?_

_He's good. Back paw's going to be bandaged for awhile though. It was a sharp shell, went in pretty deep._

_Poor guy._

_He did good at the vet's though._

_Yeah, he's tough._

_..._

_So. Any big Thanksgiving plans?_

_Oh. Probably not. Haven't given it any thought, honestly. It's not til the end of the month._

_I don't like the idea of you just staying home, eating alone._

_That's my usual Thanksgiving. Actually, I think last year was my best one._

_In the hospital?_

_Mmm-hmmm. Remember?_

_I remember you were barely back on solid food._

_You brought ice cream..._

_I didn't know your favorite..._

_So you had maybe twenty of the little Ben and Jerry cartons..._

_And of course you were incredibly boring and went with strawberry._

_Better than vanilla._

_True._

_..._

_..._

_...and then I'm pretty sure I was a complete asshole to you._

_No._

_Yeah. I was. It's been a year, Alana, it's okay for you to admit it._

_You were frustrated._

_I was a jerk in the hospital. Almost always._

_Not even close to always._

_I'm sorry._

_You've said that before. You never needed to._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_You should come here._

_..._

_Sorry, I -_

_You mean for Thanksgiving?_

_Yeah. Or. Okay, maybe Christmas would be better. I know it's a hassle with the dogs, but Will...you shouldn't be alone for holidays._

_What are __you__ doing for Thanksgiving?_

_My brothers are coming into town. Well, two of them are, and my sister-in-law. I think Bev and a few more people may come over._

_Sounds fun._

_..._

_..._

_I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. About you visiting. That was -_

_No, it's okay. I wanted you to visit here months ago, remember?_

_Right._

_And it'd be really great to see you. Really, really great, Alana._

_..._

_..._

_It's fine. It's still a long way off. Just...think about it._

_Okay._

_..._

_Alana, there's something I should probably tell you. It's not a big deal, at all, and has nothing to do with Christmas, I just feel strange that you don't know..._

_Okay..._

_I've been seeing someone._

_..._

_..._

_Oh._

_It's. She lives about a mile down the beach. Her son was always outside playing, and he would come up to pet the dogs._

_..._

_It's not...serious. Her husband died, a few years ago, so neither of us are in any hurry to be serious._

_..._

_..._

_Right. How, uh...how long?_

_We met four months ago._

_..._

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you -_

_No, why...why would you have to tell me._

_..._

_..._

_Sorry._

_Nothing to be sorry for._

_..._

_I kept, um. Ha. I kept worrying you were by yourself, too much..._

_Alana -_

_So it's...it's great, Will. I'm glad you're not._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_It's not the same._

_Mmm. Listen Will, I've gotta go -_

_Wait a second -_

_Really have to go._

_Alana -_

_Bye, Will._

~(W*A)~

Alana shows up unannounced at her oldest brother's house with a dog and rolling suitcase, and Aaron doesn't ask any questions, just ushers her inside and says that of course she can stay for the weekend.

She doesn't talk much, the first night, and though it's probably killing him not to give into Overprotective Brother mode, Aaron knows not to push her.

So they sit in Aaron's living room, drinking beer and watching hours of television on Netflix. Alana only half watches. She peels a label off her third beer bottle, fingers shaking, trying to deter herself from drinking more.

Alana hadn't expected this. All this time, she's had this worrisome image in her head of Will's solitary existence: walks on the beach with his dogs, working on lures for hours on end, waking up from nightmares alone. She'd always been left with the impression that the extent of Will's human interaction was small talk with the fishermen at his pier...and phone calls with her.

What's really killing her - what made her cry for twenty minutes after she practically hung up on Will - is that Alana knows this is a good thing for Will.

He should be with someone. He should have someone who cares about him, close by.

And he should have someone who didn't completely fuck up his life.

Whoever this woman is, whoever Will's seeing...she never believed he murdered anyone. She didn't bring Hannibal Lecter into Will's life. She isn't the reason he spent a year questioning his own sanity, the reason he went to jail, the reason he nearly died.

Which means she is probably infinitely better for Will than Alana was.

So she should be happy for him.

Instead she's run off to her big brother, not so he can comfort her, but so she's forced to keep herself together in front of him.

~(W*A)~

_Hey, it's me. I... We hung up pretty quickly the other day, and I never got a chance to ask you about, um. Just about your week, and how...um._

_I don't know, Alana, I... Sorry. Just...call me back? Bye._

~(W*A)~

Saturday Aaron doesn't seem to know what to do with her.

The morning is quiet and awkward, and she can see him fighting not to push her into talking. Finally, he stands up from the couch and gives her a purposeful look.

"Let's go for a ride, yeah?"

They get burgers at a drive-thru and drive back roads with no destination. Alana leans her head against the passenger side window while Aaron drums lightly on the steering wheel in time with the classic rock playing on the radio.

It quiets her brain a little. She thinks of being a little kid, when Aaron first had his license and would sometimes take them all on random rides, just to get out of the house. Alana was usually in the backseat, Max or Ben beside her, depending on who called shotgun. Aaron was also her primary shuttle around that time, taking her to school or soccer practices and playdates.

It had made her feel important, the times she was the only one in the car with Aaron. And him being around made her feel safe. Those were some of the only moments she didn't have to worry about what their mom was doing.

When they've been driving for forty five minutes, Aaron glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Want to talk yet, Al?"

She reaches over and steals one of his fries. "No."

"Fair enough."

~(W*A)~

_Me, again. Just...give me a call when you can? Please?_

~(W*A)~

"Is that Will that keeps calling?"

Alana silences her phone, and then turns it off for good measure. "Yeah."

Aaron nods, grabbing her plate and spooning lasagna onto it. He's quiet for awhile, not looking at his sister. Eventually, he passes Alana her dinner and arches an eyebrow. "Want to get drunk tonight?"

She doesn't mention that she's been trying to limit herself on that, and instead she just nods.

They go to a bar near Aaron's house and match each other shot for shot. They reignite a bitter rivalry in pool. Aaron runs into another teacher from his school - a younger, pretty teacher - and nearly trips over himself to assure her Alana's his sister. She makes fun of him for about half an hour. They take more shots. They call a cab and go home.

"He met someone."

Alana's lying on the couch, Jude asleep on her stomach, Aaron sprawled nearby on the floor. They're passing a bag of Sour Cream and Onion chips back and forth.

He blinks blearily up at her. "Will did?"

"Yeah. She like...has a kid, I guess, and lives near him on the beach. And she didn't send him to a serial killer for therapy. So."

"Al." Aaron tries and fails to sit up. He flops back on the ground, groaning, too old for this. "I'm sorry."

She can feel tears in her eyes, and Alana slings an arm over her eyes, angry with herself. "God, I'm acting like a teenager."

"Hey, no. I know what it's like. Remember? Divorce? Tracie got remarried in like a year..."

"Yeah, but it's different. You didn't do anything wrong..." She gives a short, wet laugh. "I fucked up so bad, Aaron."

"No. Not you, Al. You don't fuck up."

She laughs again, harshly. "I do. I did. So, so bad." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "It's good he got away from me."

~(W*A)~

_Hey. It's me. At the risk of sounding repetitive...please call me back. I really want to talk to you. I've even been considering texting. Desperate times, right? Bye._

~(W*A)~

She drives home Sunday morning with a hangover and three new missed calls from Will.

And Alana still knows him so well, so she's knows that he's panicking, scared to death that these phone calls, the last thing they have together, are going to stop.

What she can't figure out anymore is why he's holding on so hard. Like she's a bad habit he can't shake. A destructive, unhealthy vice he's convinced himself helps, when it's really just exacerbating the problem.

Alana lives two hours from Aaron's house, but after twenty minutes she pulls off the highway and takes random backroads. She finds a station that reminds her of Aaron's music and turns it on low.

This time, though, she doesn't want to turn off her brain. Can't.

Right now, she needs to be thinking.

She makes the trip home last four hours instead of two, and when she pulls into her driveway, she calls him before even getting out of the car.

~(W*A)~

_Hey._

_Hi._

_Sorry for all the...I think I overdid the calling._

_Maybe a little._

_..._

_..._

_Can I say something?_

_Sure._

_I still love you._

_..._

_Sorry. I just...it seemed important to tell you that hasn't changed._

_..._

_..._

_Can I ask...what's her name?_

_Molly._

_And it's good?_

_It's...different. It's not like us._

_But is it making things better?_

_..._

_..._

_Yeah._

_Then it's good._

_I think I...I like that she doesn't have anything to do with what happened._

_..._

_..._

_That makes sense._

_But it's not..._

_..._

_When I wake up in the middle of the night, when I've had some nightmare...I still wish you were there. When you call, if I'm with her...I still want to just go talk to you, right that second. Every second, really._

_..._

_I mean it._

_I know you do. And that's..._

_..._

_..._

_What?_

_That's why I think it's a good idea if we don't talk anymore._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Will?_

_No._

_Will, we can't keep -_

_I didn't tell you about Molly because...that isn't what I meant._

_I know it's not._

_And...I didn't want to hurt you. Ever._

_I know that, too._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_It's not because I'm mad, Will, or upset it's just...I'm not good for you, anymore._

_Alana..._

_Will. Are you coming back here?_

_I...I don't know..._

_I don't think you are._

_..._

_You left for a reason, Will. You left because...you needed to get away from everything to do with what happened, and..._

_..._

_...that includes, uh. That includes me._

_..._

_And if we keep doing this...you're not getting away. Not really and -_

_Alana -_

_..._

_You have a chance here, Will. You can build a new life, beyond everything he did to you. Everything __I__ did to -_

_No, don't do that._

_..._

_Hey..._

_S-sorry. Damn it._

_Please don't cry._

_I'm fine. I'm okay, sorry._

_..._

_And I mean it. I want you to be okay, and to be happy. More than anything, Will, that's all I want._

_..._

_..._

_I...I wanted to be happy with you._

_..._

_..._

_I know._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_So. We'll, um. We'll both be fine._

_Alana._

_This is...it's for the best._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_I'm going to go ahead and... and go now._

_..._

_Bye, Will._

_Bye, Alana._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Bye._

_Bye._

~(W*A)~

Three weeks after what is supposed to be his final phone call with Alana, Will calls her from Molly's house at three in the morning.

She doesn't answer, and that is how he knows it's over.

It's happened a handful of times, since he moved: a nightmare bad enough that he couldn't quell the instinct to call her. Alana always answered those middle of the night calls, no matter what time, and she stayed on the phone however long he needed.

But tonight the phone rings all the way to her voicemail, and he hangs up fifteen seconds after the beep sounds in his ear.

Will's downstairs in Molly's laundry room, and he stays there for nearly an hour after hanging up - Molly's a heavy sleeper; she's never once woken up when he's startled awake - and he contemplates the finality of this.

The next day Beverly calls him, purportedly just to say hi, but Will sees through that. Alana probably had her call, just to make sure the late call wasn't something more serious than a bad dream.

Still, he hasn't talked to Bev in months, so they chat amicably for a good half hour or so before hitting a lull.

Will clears his throat and asks, "How's Alana?"

The long, pregnant pause that follows makes it evident that his attempt at sounding casual failed.

"We're not going to do that, okay, Will?" Beverly says finally, almost gentle. "I'm not giving you updates."

"But..." He sighs. "Okay. Fair."

~(W*A)~

"Jack?" Alana taps twice on the doorframe of Jack's office.

He looks up, surprised to see her at the Bureau. "Alana. Come on in."

"Sorry to just come by..." She sits in the chair across from his desk. "How's Bella?"

"Up and down. Yesterday was a good day." He pauses, then gives Alana a nod. "Appreciate you stopping by Monday."

She shakes her head, dismissive. "Not a problem."

Silence hovers for a bit, Jack watching her expectantly. Finally, he prompts, "So what can I do for you?"

Alana sets her jaw, steeling herself and meeting Jack's eyes. "I was just going to let you know..." She doesn't want this to feel like a big moment, and yet she can feel the gravity of what she's saying. "If you still want me to...go back to consulting on cases, I...I would be available to do that."

Jack lifts his eyebrows, clearly surprised at the change. "I am really glad to hear that."

"Great." Alana nods shortly.

"And there's no pressure. You can ease back in, in whatever capacity you're comfortable with..."

"That's not...it's fine, Jack. The same as before, whenever you need a consult. Really."

"Alright, then."

"Thanks." She stands up to go, but Jack's voice stops her.

"Alana." She turns. "Can I ask what changed?"

"Nothing really. I just...I think it's time to remind myself that...it's something I can do."

Jack nods, understanding. "Well, I'm glad to have you back. Really, Alana."

~(W*A)~

For awhile, Will can't stop thinking about Alana calling this his_ new life_. Until she'd said it, he hadn't even realized that he'd never quite stopped thinking of Florida, and Molly and Willy and everything else that goes along with it, as something transitory.

But slowly, over many months, it does start to feel like his real life. He starts to feel like he's living in the present more than the past.

He establishes routines. He sleeps better. He starts to care about Molly and Willy the way he thinks you might care about family.

And somehow he manages all this without falling out of love with Alana.

It takes months for him to stop cataloguing how long it's been since they last talked. He wakes up on Christmas morning feeling hollow and off balance, and his phone's in his hand all day, though it doesn't ring.

He gets further away from his move to Florida, and from his last phone call with Alana. Molly's innocent belief that he is whole and stable starts to feel closer to the truth.

But Alana still trips him up.

The rental period on his house ends, and he realizes he's practically living with Molly anyway, so they make it official. It begins to feel like home. And yet he still wakes up some mornings, disoriented from some dream mingling with memory, and expects to find Alana beside him.

It doesn't take much to throw Will back. He'd thought they were bound by one final string, the phone calls, and that Alana had cut it, and that was the end. But there are hundreds, thousands, of strings left, a tangled mess inside him, each of them a trigger. A song on the radio, the whiff of a smell, a certain choice of words, the laugh of a stranger in public...he can be fine for weeks, and then something will puncture him, and it's like a splinter in his chest for the rest of the day.

But Will accepts that as his reality. It seems that part of this new life he's building includes missing Alana in way he's never missed anything his life. It's an ache that fills all the cracks inside him, and it's dull and manageable until the moment the crack bursts open, the ache spills out, and suddenly it's not.

~(W*A)~

Alana exists on routine and filled time, and slowly she has regained some sort of balance.

Every day Alana reminds herself that Will is happy. That he is strong, and he is putting himself back together. That he isn't alone.

She reminds herself that she didn't ruin his life irreparably.

And she stoically carries with her the swell of longing that comes from missing him, the sting of hurt in her lungs. And some days she can almost believe that's enough of a punishment.

It's been over a year since Will left, and Alana's finishing a class in a lecture hall they used to share when Beverly pushes through the crowd of exiting trainees.

"Hey." Alana gives her friend a curious look, unaccustomed to seeing Beverly at the Academy. "What are you doing here?"

Bev comes closer, and Alana sees the look on her face; distinctly uncomfortable, etched with dread. Alana's smile drops. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, everything's fine." There's a piece of paper in her hand. "I just...thought you should hear this from me." She makes a face. "For lack of a preferable source."

"Hear what from...?" Alana's voice trails off as Beverly hands her the small, thick rectangle.

It's a Save the Date. For the wedding of Will Graham and Molly Foster.

For a second, her mind goes blank, and the words on the invitation may as well be hieroglyphics.

Then, she thinks very distinctly of one memory.

_She's on the edge of a pier, her feet dangling into the lake water, Winston stretched out beside her. Will's close by, thigh deep in the lake, fly fishing. It's his first time fishing since prison, and she could watch him forever, the peace on his face. They're quiet, content. The air's thick with the scent of coming rain, but she can't bring herself to tear Will away._

_When the rain starts she wades out to him, wraps her arms around his waist and hooks her chin over his shoulder. The rain thickens around them, and Will lets go of the fishing pole, letting it drop into the water, and turns into her. Alana burrows against his coat. He's holding her so tight, and they stay like that for a long time before Will pulls back to look at her. His eyes are clear and steady and shining, and they don't move away. They crinkle at the corners as he smiles, and her throat tightens with more love than she'd ever have thought herself capable. She thinks that this - him - could make her happy for the rest of her life._

"Alana?" Beverly's voice is slow, cautious. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Alana hands the invitation back and doesn't look up; she isn't sure what her face is showing. "I'm happy for him."

"You don't have to be."

"I am." She grabs her bag, packing up papers and her laptop so she doesn't have to look up. "This is what I want, Bev."

"Al..." She'd picked up the nickname from Alana's brothers over the last holidays, but the _don't bullshit me_ tone is all Beverly.

"I mean it. All I wanted is for him to be able to move past this. To be happy." She sets her jaw and clenches shaking hands into fists before she looks up, expression almost defiant. "I needed to know that I didn't fuck up his life forever. And I haven't. So I'm glad. He's _happy_."

Beverly's face softens into sympathy. "And what about you?"

Something shuts down behind Alana's eyes, and she gives a thin, weary smile. "I'm fine."

~(W*A)~

Will doesn't sleep the night before his wedding.

He lays awake, retracing his steps, from the phone calls bursting at the seams with longing and all the way back, to tentative friendship and falling in love.

Molly loves Will because she does not know who he was (is). Because she has never seen his instability or his brokenness or the dark spaces of his mind.

Alana saw it all. She saw him weak and angry and broken. Saw him unstable and uncertain.

And she loved him anyway.

~(W*A)~

She doesn't cry until she wakes up on the day of his wedding.

It makes Alana feel stupid and small and selfish, curled in her bed first thing in the morning with her teeth clenched around a wad of sheets, even though there's no one around to hear her sobbing.

When it's finally over, Alana just lies there, thoroughly sick of herself. She's made changes; she let Will go, and she stopped with the constant self-medication, and she's even gone back forensic profiling without letting self doubt become crippling.

And yet nothing's changed inside her head. It's still the same gnarled, black mess of guilt and shame and hurt.

That's the mess she really needs to sort through.

She has to go see him.

It's impulsive, but she seizes onto it, without stopping to consider motivation or consequences. Alana gets out of bed, gets dressed, gets in her car, and drives.

~(W*A)~

All day Will can feel fear vining around his veins, the fear that he is making a mistake he can't take back.

Molly looks beautiful in her dress, and happy, but Will can't help but hoping she's secretly thinking of her first wedding day, because it might make him feel a fraction better about the fact that, today of all days, he can finally admit a truth to himself, the thing that's been scratching at his brain for months.

All this time, and he still just wants Alana.

~(W*A)~

While somewhere, a thousand miles away, Will is preparing to marry someone else, Alana is walking through the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

She has not spoken to Hannibal since everything happened, over two years ago, and has seen him only briefly at the trial, though she'd spent most of that time not letting herself look.

Those first few weeks in the hospital, while Will was barely clinging to life, she'd had a laser focus on him that reduced everything else - even her own guilt or her anger at Hannibal - to a sort of blurry peripheral vision.

The anger came, of course. Pure rage like nothing Alana had ever experienced, the sort of fury that could permanently warp you. Jack had been surprised Alana always refused his offers to accompany him on interrogations to Baltimore; he knew better than anyone that she rarely hesitated in expressing her anger.

Yet this was different. Alana knows herself, and she knows her temper, and thus she had known she wouldn't be able to keep it in check. But anger was useless. Hannibal would not be made to feel guilty or ashamed. The most she could hope for was some mild, disconnected pity, and the thought of that made her stomach turn.

So Alana never went. Until now, on Will's wedding day.

The steel door of the maximum security section closes behind Alana, and she makese her way down the once familiar tier. Her chest constricts suddenly with the irrational fear that he will be in the same cell that once housed Will. She knows that cell by heart, knows the feel of the distance down the corridor.

Hannibal's closer to the doors, and on the opposite side. Strangely, she's glad for that.

He's sitting at a table that's bolted to the floor of the cell, writing. He looks up, spots her, and graces her with a smile, as mild and untainted as though he's greeting her at a dinner. "Alana. I was wondering when you might come by."

And there it is, her anger, flaring to life in her nerves, dizzying in it's intensity. She bites down hard on the inside of her lip, not letting it show. She nods once, curtly. "Hannibal."

"Why don't you have a seat? I think there are some folding chairs in a closet just down that way."

"That's alright, I won't be staying long."

Hannibal's eyes linger on her for a long moment, taking her in. It's not an unfamiliar look, but it makes her skin crawl. Defiantly, Alana doesn't break eye contact.

"Did you get my Christmas card?"

"I did." She'd ripped it to the tiniest shreds her fingers could manage and thrown the pieces into a fire.

"I planned to send you and Will a joint card. But Freddie Lounds informed me that was no longer applicable. I was sorry to hear it."

It almost falls apart, right then. The monster in her chest digs its claws into Alana's lungs, and she can feel words and accusations straining against the sides of her throat, begging to be screamed. She doesn't trust herself to reply.

Hannibal's eyes gleam, sensing the crack in her facade. "So. Alana. What is it that brings you by? After two years I've given up hope of a social visit."

Gathering herself, Alana tightens her jaw and fixes her former mentor with a level stare. "Should I have known?"

He doesn't pretend to misunderstand her, just gives a soft, immediate laugh. "Of course not. You couldn't have. Only Will."

Alana hates him saying Will's name. It makes her guts coil up, her fingers curl into fists. "Don't talk about him," she bites out before she can stop herself.

Hannibal ignores that, continuing in a conciliatory tone, "I don't mean that disrespectfully. You know I have the utmost admiration of your abilities, Alana. Always have. It's why I took an interest in you during residency. You were very...interesting." For a second, she slips up and looks away. "And I took great care to make sure you never had reason to suspect me. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself."

He stands up, approaching the bars. "Do you know why Will caught me?"

"I told you," Alana forces out between gritted teeth. "Not to talk about him."

"You always want to see the good in people, Alana. Loyal to a fault. That was your one mistake with me...and your mistake with Will." He leans close, smiling at her. "Do you know why Will caught me?"

She can feel the bitter, acidic taste of bile rising in the back of her throat, and Alana swallows hard and turns away, starting to go, until Hannibal's voice stops her.

"He caught me because we're just alike."

She turns at that, meeting Hannibal's eyes. Her rage settles, and Alana smiles humorlessly back at him. "No. You've always had that wrong about him." She takes a few steps back toward the cell, calm and controlled. "He can understand you. He can think like you. But you're not special. He can think like _anyone_. And the way you think...it's everything Will stands against." She shakes her head a little, like _Hannibal_ is the one she pities. "He's nothing like you." With that, she turns, heels clicking down the corridor as she leaves.

~(W*A)~

He spots Beverly and Jack at the reception and something inside Will unravels.

He'd sent them invitations so he would have at least a few names to give Molly, but he hadn't counted on this. On how tied they are with Alana...with the life he gave up for good today.

Jack claps Will on the back and Beverly hugs him, they congratulate him and exchange banal small talk, catching up, but her name is in the air between them from start to finish. Will's eyes barely leave Beverly's, his gaze practically begging her to divulge something, anything, about Alana.

But the conversation ends without a mention, and soon he's being tugged off to meet some of Molly's college friends. There's dancing and food and constant introductions, and before he knows it, Molly's taking his head and saying, "Ready for the send off?"

His throat locks up. They are supposed to be leaving for their honeymoon, and then they will return to the house in Florida with Willy and begin their married life.

He has not spoken to Alana for a year. Hasn't seen her in even longer. And after today, he may very well never see or talk to Beverly or Jack or anyone from that old life ever again.

"Give me a minute, okay? I need to say goodbye to Bev."

Will's frantic as he moves through the crowd, eyes darting for Beverly or Jack. He starts to worry they've left already, and nearly collapses with relief when he finds Beverly coming out of the bathroom.

"Will, hey..."

"Hey, we're...we're about to leave, and I just...I wanted to thank you for coming and...say goodbye..."

The corner of Beverly's lips quirks up, not buying it. "Anything else?"

He drops the pretense. "How's Alana?" Her name breaks apart in his throat, and he wonders how long it's been since he said it out loud.

Beverly's face neutralizes, expression impassive. "She's fine."

A desperate, strangled sound escapes Will before he can stop it. "Bev, please. Give me something, here."

"I can only tell you what she tells me, Will. And she says she's fine."

"And she knows about...?"

Bev laughs a little. "No, Will, Jack and I told her we were just taking off for a joint vacation. Of course she knows."

He's quiet, unable to figure out how to say what he really wants.

Eventually, Beverly sighs. "Will, what do you want me to say? You got married."

He squeezes his eyes shut, hearing the weight of her voice and everything it implies. After a long, long time, he says quietly, "I miss her like hell."

Will's eyes stay closed until he feels Beverly's hand on his arm. "Will," she says gently. "More than anything, Alana wants you to be happy. I think she was afraid she'd made that impossible." Slowly, he lifts his head to look at her. "My advice? Go be happy."

She hugs him, then walks away, and Will feels another string inside him snap.

~(W*A)~

**A/N:** So this is gonna end up being a four shot...next chapter takes place during _Red Dragon. _


End file.
